(dis)honest
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: "Things come apart so easily when they have been held together with lies." Mrs. Lovett has to learn this the hard way, but she isn't the only one keeping secrets. - Multi-chap with gradual Sweenett.


**This is my take on what could happen if all the little white lies and half-truths got cleared up without everyone I love ending up in either a puddle of blood or burned to ashes... and maybe I've been watching too many episodes of Pretty Little Liars lately but I really think that a little truth cannot possibly do more damage than a ton of lies. I mean where'd be the logic in that?**

Also, this is of uknown length since I don't know how many parts it'll take until I have this wrapped up in a way I can live with..

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd. There, I said it. Telling the truth doesn't hurt. At all. ... Maybe a little.**

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"Things come apart so easily when they have been held together with lies."  
― Dorothy Allison

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**(dis)honest**

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Clouds shifted restlessly about the night sky, teasingly unveiling the moon's crescent shape before mercilessly obscuring it again. Only a faint glimmer of white penetrated the heavy anthracite formations and bit by bit even this light was swallowed away, leaving nothing but blackness above.  
Sweeney Todd was watching the movement in the sky through his massive window front, right arm extended to support his weight on the wooden frame, one foot casually crossed over the other. He himself was completely still and if not for his regular intakes of air he appeared very much like a wax replica of his own frame. From her current position, sitting atop the wooden chest in the corner, Mrs. Lovett took in the sight of her barber. His return lay a good month or so behind them and still she feared he might be unreal, a mere hallucination of her scarred mind and heart, torturous in its vividness.

_Oh, but what sweet a torture it was!_

By now it was so dark she could barely make out the barber's reflection in the smeared windowpane. It was at this time clear to her that he wasn't watching the clouds, black eyes staring into empty space, into a life that no longer existed and of which only a memory remained.

„Need anything, pet?" His dark voice suddenly ripped through the silence, like a porcelain plate shattering to pieces on the floor, changing the tranquil atmosphere into a hostile one. She was no longer considered a welcome guest by her tenant.

„Was just chekin' up on you, is all," she mumbled, more to herself than him, as she slid off the box and made her way toward the door, suppressing the urge to send one last yearning look in his direction before exiting.

The streetlights, only partly lit, barely gave enough light to illuminate the steps of the outside staircase leading down to her emporium, so the baker had to make use of her perfect recollection of the steps, embedded in her memory from the countless times she'd wandered up there on sleepless nights, desperate and naive to think that by some miracle he had not boarded the ship with the other convicts and instead found his way back to where he belonged. She had even cared for little Johanna and his ludicrous wife before Turpin had taken them both away, leaving the baker completely alone.  
Later she'd liked to believe that she had done all in her power to save the pair, but knew very well that it was far from the truth. She had been glad to have the blonde, disgustingly flawless in her appearance, out of her life, even if it meant sacrificing the wellbeing of the innocent bundle of joy.  
After Lucy Barker's attempted suicide she'd even gone as far as to tell everyone who showed interest in renting her upstairs premises that her house was haunted and soon word spread, leaving her with an empty room filled with the memories of a family she had never been a part of.

Down in her parlor the lone duo of oil lamps she had lit prior to her visit upstairs gave the room a yellowish glow, eerie shadows dancing across the wood paneling. Mrs. Lovett watched the flickering light with fascination for some minutes, sitting down on the old fashioned canapé and stretching her tired legs. Business was going extraordinarily well at the moment, which had the obvious perks of disguising the barber's crimes and financial stability for the baker, but also the downside of a constant state of exhaustion which could not even be cured by a full night's rest.  
Were she as daft as to believe in higher entities, she might've sent a prayer of thanks to God for sending her Tobias Ragg. The little orphan boy followed her every order without thinking twice about it, trusting her with juvenile naivety.  
She did, on some nights, love him as if he were her own, pretending his strongly accented callings of ‚ma'am' were really meant as ‚mum' and occasionally she caught herself truly believing it was what he said. It almost pained her to lie to him day after day; the lad had already suffered enough hurt and betrayal for as short a lifetime as his. However, in the baker's heart was just enough love for one man and, as much as she regretted her own heartlessness, that man was Sweeney Todd.

„I'm home, ma'am!" yelled Toby from the door, instantly sending a jolt of guilt through the baker. She got up from her resting place and walked with tired steps to the kitchen in order to serve the boy his dinner, after all he'd been running errands for her all day.

„Where've you been, 's already dark out," she scolded mildly with maternal concern. The boy sent a half-apologetic smile and shrugged.

„Sorry," he offered just before his stomach growled loudly. Mrs. Lovett dismissed his late arrival with a smile and put a plate of pies down before him. The boy immediately began shoving the food into his mouth with greed whilst she went to fetch a bottle of gin and a glass – he had earned it.  
By the time she returned from the next room Toby finished the first pastry and was already grabbing for the second as she took a seat next to him, filling a glass with liquor.

„Slow down, boy, or you'll feel sick. Here, " she pushed the glass toward him, „drink up."

„Thanks ma'am!" Toby exclaimed, mouth still full, and took the glass, using the alcohol to wash down the remnants of his pie. The baker watched with amusement as he grimaced, the liquid burning down his throat. „Can I have more?" he asked as soon as everything was swallowed.

„Good grief, finish your food first, will ya? …_Slowly_." Mrs. Lovett clarified when Toby again took a bite too big for his mouth out of the third pie. He slowed his chewing demonstratively, rolling his eyes at her, and moved the remaining piece in his hands, analyzing its texture.

„How come you always seem ta 'ave a bash of pies ready, even when I'm just returnin' from the butcher 'cause you're 'all out of meat'?"  
He did obviously not mean any harm by asking that question but Mrs. Lovett froze nonetheless. The boy couldn't possibly know about her business with the barber, could he? No. She was clearly going insane.

"I reserve 'em 'specially for you, dear," she lied swiftly with a smile on her lips that likely looked faker than Mrs. Mooney's. Toby, God bless him, didn't notice it and happily finished his meal. He burped once, an almost dreamy expression on his young features.

"Them pies truly are the best of London, ma'am," he said softly, patting his stomach and looking up at her with all the innocence he could muster. The baker's heart sped up and she clumsily took his plate to carry it to the sink so she didn't have to look at him.

"Go ahead, help yourself to some more gin, love," she said. It was easier to keep her voice even when her back was turned on the boy. He thanked her and she could hear him pour another glass of liquor. Once she had finished cleaning the plate she began to store away the bags full of groceries which Toby had brought her, careful to always evade his gaze. She was successful in taking twice, if not three times as long as usual, even taking the time to dust off some of the shelves which had until then not seen a duster for years. The work took her mind off her worries and when she ran out of things to do she was glad to have restored a calm attitude. Toby, too, seemed quite relaxed. With his chin lazily rested on his chest and eyes clouded with drunken thoughts he would certainly not cause the baker any more emotional turmoil. She walked over to him and slung his thin arm over her shoulder in order to guide him to his sleeping spot, letting out a small yelp of surprise when his legs gave out beneath him and his whole body weight suddenly rested on her. Still she managed to drag him all the way across her home and place him more or less comfortably on the sofa. Carefully she placed an old wool blanket over the evenly breathing boy, already fast asleep, and patted his head affectionately before deciding to retreat to the bedroom herself. The next day would be a Sunday, therefore neither hers, nor Mr. Todd's shop would be open, still she would not get her much needed sleep as she was still required to show up for Sunday Mass at St. Dunstan's. Her pie shop had gained quite the reputation in a very short period of time; however, a little advertisement had never hurt anyone. And it just so happened that a lot of people attended church, even though she never understood the concept of religion, or rather thought it slightly ridiculous.  
With a quick shake of her head she dismissed her ever resurfacing doubts concerning the existence of a higher power and sat down in front of her mirror, attempting to untangle her auburn curls which were stuck together with to flour, dough, sweat and even pieces of minced human flesh (attorney maybe?). The baker grimaced, suddenly disgusted by her own work and its scrupulousness. The feeling went away as fast as it had bubbled up once she reminded herself why she did all the things she did. A small part of her still believed that the barber upstairs would one day appreciate her loyalty and realize how much she had sacrificed for him, how much she loved him. And the minute he would understand it would all be worth it for her.

Her eyes travelled over the mirrored images of the items on the wall and dresser behind her, stopping on a faded picture.  
"Ah, don' look at me that way, ya old bastard. 'S not like I don' know how much 'e loathes me." Of course her late husband gave no reply, still his gaze – frozen in the decade old image – seemed reproachful. Pretending not to care anymore the baker moved into a standing position, giving up on her hopelessly muddled hair. Slowly she crossed the room, untying her corset as she walked. The first full intake of air since the early morning hours almost hurt, but it was a pleasant sort of pain, almost made her lightheaded even. She changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, covering herself with all the blankets and comforters she owned. The weight of all the layers relaxed her instantly and soon the baker fell asleep, completely exhausted.

**.**

_Her dreams take her to the same place every night. The barber and her walk arm in arm along an infinite esplanade, watching the waves rocking the ships in the harbor or listening to the squawking seagulls flying high above their heads in the cloudless sky. Toby, too, is there, joyful laughter ringing through the air as he rushes past them. The sun warms their bones and it's all so different from London. There is no Judge or Beadle to make their life hell, no Anthony to interrupt them in crucial moments and no Lucy or Johanna to cause her barber pain. It's just them enjoying each other's company, sharing a life._  
_When she looks up at him he smiles and says her name. She mirrors his smile and wants to say something too, but he keeps calling her. "Mrs. Lovett? … Eleanor?" She frowns and he grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her, repeating her name over and over again._

_"Mr. Todd, wot's the matter wi-_" Mrs. Lovett's eyes snapped open as she realized that she had been woken from her dream by the very protagonist himself.

"Why is the gin gone?" he asked bluntly, expression as dark as ever. It took her a moment to realize that this question alone was his motive for disturbing her rest and, frankly, it made her furious.

"Who d'you think you bloody are ta come waltzing in 'ere in the middle of the night?" she hissed, not wanting the boy in the next room to wake up as well. The barber didn't even blink, looking rather bored with the scene she was making.

"I asked you a question," he said calmly but in his eyes she could see that he was already losing his temper.

"Jesus bloody Christ," she mumbled as she swung her legs out of bed and walked past him, not even bothered to throw a robe over her shoulders. He followed her into the kitchen where she began rummaging through various cabinets in search for the liquor he desired. "Sorry, dear, looks like we're all out of gin. I'll go get some first thing next week." For her that was the end of it and she turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm, effectively holding her back.

"Got anything else?" The way he said it, oddly desperate, made her close her eyes briefly, cursing herself, before she turned around again and went to fetch an ancient bottle of Scotch from her secret stash and two glasses.

"Go on, sit," she ordered with a nod toward the kitchen table. For once he did as he was told and dropped down on the bench. The baker pulled up a chair and joined him, pouring them both some liquor. He drowned his glass in one gulp, immediately demanding more even as he was still grimacing from the sharp taste. Reluctantly she re-filled his glass.  
"What's on your mind, love?" she asked softly, reaching out to put her hand over his but pulling it back when he sent her a gooseflesh-raising glare.

"You should go back to bed," he murmured as she stifled a yawn for the third time in two minutes. She snorted.

"An' leave you alone with that bottle o' Scotch? I don't think so." To her great surprise he chuckled, watching the liquid in his glass with fascination before focusing his gaze on her.

"Why do you care so much, Mrs. Lovett? I have been gone for fifteen years and returned a changed man, still you don't seem bothered by that fact."

She had never expected to ever hear words of even similar nature from him and her mouth opened and closed several times without her saying a word. He watched her with sincere curiosity and she guessed that the Scotch couldn't be his first drink of the night. It seemed like the demons of his past were tormenting him more than usual and knowing she couldn't do anything but provide the mind-numbing liquor broke her heart. She doubted his pain would ever go away. Even with the Judge dead there would be a void in his heart no one but Lucy Barker could fill, but the woman he had loved was gone forever.

The barber poured himself a third glass but did not drink from it straight away, still waiting for a reply. Of course there were quite a lot of things she could have said then, but she chose to remain silent for the sake of not only his but also her own sanity.  
He sighed and blinked a couple of times and she knew that his body was beginning to be affected by the alcohol. When his gaze wandered down until it rested on her chest she blushed, suddenly very much conscious of how little she was wearing and how inappropriate it was, considering their relationship as tenant and landlady. Mrs. Lovett got up and went to fetch an old apron from the kitchen to feel at least a little less exposed. She also poured a glass of water for the barber and placed it before him on the table. He raised an eyebrow at her but drank it without further objection.

"If your Lucy were still alive… what would you say to 'er?" the baker blurted out, surprising them both. For a long time the barber said nothing, carefully considering his words.

"I would ask her why she didn't wait for me," he finally murmured. After that he finished his Scotch and got up, taking shaky steps toward the inside staircase. Before he climbed the steps to his room he mumbled, "Thank you for the company, Mrs. Lovett. I… appreciate it."

_Now or never_, she thought.

"Mr. T, wait up!" she called after him, stopping his ascend mid-staircase. "There's somethin' I need ta tell you. 'Bout Lucy." He slowly turned to look at her over his shoulder, a frown upon his handsome face. "I 'av'n't been completely honest with you, ya see…" the baker began fidgeting with the torn lace of her dirty apron while the barber took a couple of steps until he was at the foot of the stairs again, now sending her an inquisitive glare. When she failed to say more straight away he took another step toward her, suddenly sober eyes narrowing further. The peace they had shared only moments earlier was gone but knowing she could give him the closure he deserved overwhelmed her and in her sleep-deprived state she had somehow gathered the courage to clear up the lie she had told. Although she was terrified of his reaction.

"Lost your voice, pet?" he asked, tone laced with anger. She couldn't look him in the eyes, already feeling her confidence slip away again.

"'S nothing, I'm sorry… Must be the alcohol." Her poor attempt of backpedaling failed miserably, he did not believe her for even a second, eyes wandering to the untouched glass of scotch on the table. By now he was standing so close she could almost feel him trembling with rage.

"Don't think you can fool me," he spat at her, "What were you going to say?" Her eyes started to tear up and she swallowed hard, knowing there was no way back now.

Before she could speak a frantic knock sounded at the door.

The pair turned in confusion; normally no one would be out at this time of the night. Her heart sank as she recognized the first silhouette. "The sailor," she whispered.

"Anthony?" The barber's bewilderment matched her own but secretly she was for once glad for the young man's interruption. She went to open the door and as soon as she stepped aside the sailor rushed past her, towing another hooded person with him.

"Mrs. Lovett, I saw the light and didn't know where else to go- … Mr. Todd!" Anthony exclaimed with excitement but neither the barber nor the baker paid any attention to him, both staring blankly at the company he had brought. The barber took a tentative step forward, one whispered word escaping his lips:

"Johanna."

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**Reviews are very much appreciated. xx**


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